Mama Shiz (the birth)

This post has been coming a while – I should have written about being pregnant but part of me was still trying to get my head around the whole thing plus all I really remember was that I couldn’t drink on my honeymoon, the smell of the michelin starred Thai restaurant we’d booked made me balk and that I was massively constipated for most of it – never mind Teddy’s Leg, I was passing Teddy’s torsos. Don’t get me wrong, this was something we always wanted, and doing the job that I do I thought I could plan and prepare to make the whole process easier, that was my first lesson learned – no matter how much you think you are organised, your world is about to be turned upside down.
At 38 weeks pregnant I was told that Layla was breech – she was basically using my cervix as a hammock. We went to visit a consultant who told us they could try and manually turn her. After mulling it over in Carluccios whilst stuffing in a quick Penne Giadiniera and a Sav blanc, we said yes… A decision that proved a lot more traumatic than I thought, the feeling I can only describe as someone trying to wring your insides out. She became distressed, I burst into tears and we put a stop to it realising that we were dealing with one stubborn little diva (she takes after her dad obvs!). Getting my head round not being able to have a natural birth was really difficult, visions of me singing along to a bit of Adele, digging my nails into Zak just to make him feel a bit of pain, whilst floating round a birthing pool like the Little Mermaid (in reality more like Keiko the Whale) were dashed.
On the plus side a date for the C-Section had been confirmed, I hot footed it to the hairdressers for a curly blow and put on a bit of Leopard Print (courtesy of nana Rose – my “lucky” top) and I was ready to go – GET THAT NEEDLE IN MY BACK AND CUT ME OPEN – I WANT TO MEET MY BABY!!
All was going well – I remember us laughing away (I think it was the drugs that made me think Zak was funnier than he actually is) and then next minute a nurse whispered “Your baby has been born”… and then SILENCE. All we’d asked was that the baby was lifted above the curtain as soon as she was out but that didnt happen, little did we know she wasn’t breathing when born and was rushed to that little side table that you see on One Born Every Minute and think to yourself “oh nooo” and the Emergency Care button was pressed. What was probably 5 minutes felt like a lifetime, if Zak could he would have turned white, every man and his dog came running in… luckily once she had an audience, she let out a massive scream… whilst we let out a massive breath…
I was sent to a high dependency unit having lost a lot of fluids which was bliss- just a room full of new parents cooing over their babies. They encouraged me to get up and walk the same day and with the help of this amazing dressing (battery operated called the Pico!) I felt ok. Close family (and Peebs) came in to visit and before we knew it it was 1am. That first night on my own in the hospital with her was petrifying – I kept waking up asking where my baby was (she was right next to me… gotta love Morphine) and putting my finger under her nose to check she was still breathing – nearly 4 months on and we still do that.
Unfortunately this safe haven wasn’t to remain as I was later transferred to an antenatal ward due to a bed block situation, basically meaning I was surrounded by mums in labour. I was woken around 9am with what I can only describe as a BIG SCALLY BASTARD asking the nurse if there was any credit left on the TV before turning it on to watch Jeremy Kyle at full blast – I thought I was still high. BSB then turned on his partner asking her when she thought she would be finished because the hospital was and I quote… “fucking boring fam”. If that wasn’t bad enough I then had the Queen of Arabia opposite me, phoning everyone in her phone book for approximately 40 minutes a go and obviously reliving her contraction experience… in Arabic. Needless to say by lunchtime when my cavalry (mum and Zak) had arrived I just wanted to go home. The crux of it came when I had to try and wee in order to be discharged. Bearing in mind, I had just been cut open and told I was severely dehydrated, going the toilet took me slightly longer than usual…to which BSB had picked up on “She’s been in there ages blud, it’s probably going to stink of shit when she comes out”… delightful
I’ll leave you all with that thought before venturing into Mama Shiz (the aftermath) coming soon 🙂 x

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